


Today we escape, we escape

by Kathleenishereagain



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Neglect, High School, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Post-Canon, References to Depression, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-21 16:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kathleenishereagain/pseuds/Kathleenishereagain
Summary: “You’re not boring,” He said, sounding deadly serious.His gaze was way too intense for his anxiety, so Tweek could do nothing but to let out an awkward chuckle and an even more awkward shrug. Once upon a time he would have known how to take it, what to answer. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have doubted the words of his Craig, would have known he would always be honest with him. But now Tweek had spent seven years with no one to tell him the truth, so no matter how much the 10-year-old in him wanted to believe it, he couldn’t. He didn’t know this Craig.He was looking for a way to cut the conversation short when, unfortunately, Craig spoke again. And this time, his eyes and voice had become noticeably softer.“You’re the only interesting person I’ve ever met.”--Seven years ago, Craig moved to Denver with his mom and his sister and Tweek hasn't heard of him since. So now, when Craig is suddenly thrown back into his life at the start of his senior year, it's the last straw that makes Tweek's long-fought for peace of mind crash and burn.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t that Tweek never expected to see him again – after all, in South Park, it wasn’t uncommon for long gone things to make an unforeseen comeback – but the distant possibility of it had been buried under so many _duties_ , _worries_ and _obligations_ at this point that it had completely escaped his mind. And the fact that he had to learn about it from Stan, of all people, was all the more startling.

They were at soccer practice, all in line to take turns at shooting into the goal. Tweek was already trembling in exhaustion, his nerves fraying by the second and the dire absence of caffeine in his system making itself painfully known. He thought that the fact that they’d all now been standing still in shorts and jerseys for close to ten minutes because _Francis kept missing the freaking ball_ , leaving just enough time for his sweat to dry and leave him damp and cold, was already the cherry on top of an awfully long and boring day. However, it appeared that the worst was yet to come when Stan turned to him and innocently uttered the fatal words:

“Did you know that Craig Tucker was back in South Park?”

For a second, the fate of the net at the back of the goal getting repeatedly kicked in the guts with a ball seemed strangely relatable. Tweek violently startled, and whether it was because of the surprise or because the guy behind him was physically urging him to step forward was unclear even to him.

“Sorry—” Tweek quickly told the guy behind him, before snapping back to Stan. “Wait, _what_?!”

Stan, the asshole, simply nodded with a neutral face and started hopping on the spot to keep warm.

“Yeah. His name was called out at homeroom this morning. Wasn’t there, though.”

It was then Stan’s turn to shoot, drawing the conversation to a close, but Tweek just gaped at his back until the coach yelled at him to get going and shoot because they weren’t “ _going to spend the whole evening at the school, goddammit_ ”. Since his school organized their homerooms alphabetically, he was supposed to have the same as Stan, but his dad had deemed necessary that morning to give him a very, very long ‘eloquent’ speech about the crucial stakes of the senior year of high school, which had outright made him miss the very first homeroom of the year. But as he watched the ball fly into the net, his whole body went numb. It felt like in the movies, when there’s an emotional montage of clear, happy memories while the character is having an epiphany; except all Tweek saw was grey pixels and his feelings were such a violent mess he couldn’t disentangle one from the other. He hadn’t heard that name in… months and months. Years, even. The last time he had heard, it was probably from a quick anecdote someone mentioned from their primary years, like “oh remember that animal close up show that Craig had made” or something. Probably from Kenny, since the guy seemed to have the memory of an elephant. He had not thought about Craig in a long time, not concretely at least. Not about the real, in the flesh person. The real in the flesh person who was apparently back in South Park.

When he was pushed again, he blindly went to the ball, feeling like a robot with his numb and heavy limbs. Before he could even kick the ball though, his feet slipped in the muddy grass and sent him crashing to the ground under the eyes of his whole team.

He couldn’t tell if the fact that they were so used to it they didn’t laugh made it better or worse.

“Oh. I didn’t expect you to be still up.”

His gaze lost on the chipped glass in front of him and his head leaning on his crossed arms, Tweek could hear the words of his mom but still felt too spaced out to process them. His mom, still wearing the apron from the coffee shop, didn’t seem to mind; she went straight to the coffee machine, took the pot, checked its inside and rinsed it. Her movements were so automatic, so practiced over and over and over, that when Tweek’s mind caught up with her words, he was surprised she noticed his presence at all.

“Are you still good for tomorrow’s shift?” She asked with a glance in his direction, her voice sounding painfully awkward.

His week schedule had been the same for years now, alternating the days. School, soccer practice. School, coffee shop shift. Rinse, repeat. On Saturdays, coffee shop shift, then soccer practice. On Sundays… coffee shop shift, although he had managed to negotiate a free morning now that he was in senior year of high school, with the excuse of the upcoming graduation. It was not much, but it was still the most blessedly quiet moment of his week. The only slot that was not calculated so that each minute of free time was dedicated to helping his parents at the shop. It was even half the reason he had let Stan convince him into getting into soccer with him—that and his vital need to evacuate the jittery energy that his consumption of caffeine gave him, which only worked halfway. His schedule had literally no reason to change, since no excuse was good enough in their eyes to dishonour the beauty of working. But he didn’t blame her mother for asking. After all, she was not used to night discussions with her son either.

Or any discussion, for that matter.

"Yeah yeah,” Tweek thus breathed quietly, perfectly aware that her attention was already lost to the coffee machine she was cleaning with meticulousness.

As suspected she didn’t answer, and a couple minutes later Tweek was once again alone at the kitchen table. A trembling glance at his phone told him it was already pas one a.m., and he really ought to go to bed if he wanted to have more than five hours of sleep this time, but he couldn’t shake Stan’s words off of his mind. His head felt heavy, too heavy for his arms, and his exhaustion had drained the feverishness away. Although the initial shock had worn off (the tiniest bit), he still couldn’t figure out how he was feeling exactly.

The last time he had seen Craig, they were in his parent’s coffee shop, in ‘their’ booth (his father’s words) with cups of coffee and hot cocoa in front of them. They had practically not said a word for the whole two hours they had spent together, both too under shock to find anything relevant to say. Craig’s face had been closed off, even more than usual, with his brows so furrowed he almost looked angry at him. But Tweek knew better, back then. He knew Craig was just confused, and angry at his situation. Angry at his dad for losing his job, angry at his parents for divorcing, angry at his mom for finding someone else and deciding to take his sister and him to go live with that stranger in Denver, leaving their whole life – _his_ whole life – behind. Craig had not said any of that aloud, of course (expressing feelings had never been his forte), but Tweek knew. And he had nothing to say to make any of it better, because they were just kids and according to their parents, they had no say in their decisions, even the ones that uprooted them. Because Craig was leaving, yes, but he was also leaving Tweek behind. After those two hours, when Craig’s mom had arrived to pick him up, he had silently got up from the bench and got around the table towards Tweek to unexpectedly hug him while their parents were talking. If having people in his personal space was his number one cause of hyperventilation, Tweek had still remained calm and even hugged back, because it was _Craig_. So they had awkwardly hugged for the first and last time, one standing one sitting, then Craig had followed his mom to the door, sent one last quick glance to Tweek and just like that, he had vanished from his life. They were 10.

And now, a little less than seven years later, Craig was back in South Park. _Supposedly_ , he forced himself to remember. Maybe Stan had heard wrong—he was not exactly the best reference when it came to paying attention to class. Maybe it wasn’t Craig Tucker, but Craig Dugger, or Turner, or even Greg Tucker. This option was unlikely, he knew it; his dormant paranoia was quick to harshly point it out. There were no coincidences in South Park, not in his experience. But the fact that he could very well be facing Craig the next day, or at least in the days to come if they (God have mercy) didn’t share any classes was too big to handle in his already emotionally overloaded life. How was he supposed to act with him? Were they still… friends? Were they anything? Would Craig even remember him, or anything at all? Would he have changed, become unrecognizable? After all, the Craig he knew back then wouldn’t have left him so utterly alone from one minute to the next, without even a single letter to explain why he didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Or was Tweek thinking this completely wrong, and was Craig back only to spy, to mock or to write an article about the stupid rednecks of South Park, Colorado?! Or to come laugh at Tweek and his pathetic loneliness?!

The noise of the front door being opened again startled him from his thoughts and by reflex, he grabbed his phone and fled to run to up to his room, taking the steps two by two. He didn’t want his dad to see him and to give him another pointless lecture on the importance of taking the chance to rest in-between days of work. The thought of his parents only made Craig’s return more… not exactly more painful, but just _more_. His parents had _adored_ Craig, or at least the idea of him, and in the months following his departure they had literally not stopped talking about him, all the time. Wondering how he was, sighing about his absence, regretting their lost future, asking Tweek if had received any news. He hadn’t, was the thing—not once in seven years. If the situation had been almost forgotten until Stan’s words, the hurt had never stopped being real, subdued and grazing under his skin whenever he wasn’t careful about it. The hurt was the very reason Tweek had done what he had done after those first few months—not that anyone was close enough to him back then to care about his reasons.

 _Craig would have cared_ , a traitorous, childish voice whispered in his mind. But no, no. He could not afford to let that voice back in. That one voice he had tried to burn and bury deep under in the months following Craig’s departure. The one that had allowed him to open up, to trust, to have the slightest belief that—

Closing his eyes as tightly as he could, he slid under the covers, phone turned off but still clutched as usually in his hand, several alarms prepared for the morning. His body had started twitching again, probably from the sudden stress of running up the stairs, but it wasn’t a big deal. The best he could do, he figured, was to wait to see Craig’s reaction and to model his own behaviour on it. Or just to ignore him altogether and pretend he didn’t recognize him. Who knew. Maybe he genuinely wouldn’t. Whatever was to come, Tweek was old enough to handle it now—he was nearly an adult! He was (slightly) more in control of his emotions than when he was ten and even if seeing a ghost figure of the past suddenly pop back was for sure a test to his collectedness, he had to believe he was able to face it. He had to.

He would not able to face it.

That fact had grown clearer and clearer with each passing second from the moment he had opened his painful eyes after a mere two-hour sleep. As his luck would have it, his morning so far had been a series of little mishaps; one of the buttons of his shirt had popped, which made him involuntarily tear up the fabric, he had nearly choked on his morning – and dry as hell – leftover bun from the shop and burnt his tongue in trying to wash it down with coffee, which he had splatted all over his only clean jumper in the process, and last but not least, he had missed his bus and had to walk the whole way to the school in just a torn-up shirt, which of course made him arrive too late to call it fashionable. Unless missing homeroom (twice in a row, he was definitely going to be sent to the vice principal’s office) was the new fashion. The only good thing about the whole ordeal was that at least it had not left him that much time to worry about Craig—the bad thing was that he was already so tensed, cold and jittery that the day was doomed to be excruciating.

Sprinting though the empty corridors, his agitation made him take several wrong turns before finally finding his history class. Without surprise, everyone turned big eyes to him when he entered in a rush, chest heaving and mouth fumbling to find words, but the quick, vaguely annoyed nod from his teacher standing in front of the board at least eased his mind a little.

“Mr. Tweak,” He called him out in a peremptory voice that almost made Tweek squeak. “Nice of you to join. Go to your seat, please.”

The words were so cliché Tweek was bordering on rolling his eyes but he still blindly rushed to one of the free seats, noticing only now that his backpack was bumping against his butt since the straps had slipped along his arms in his running. He tried to sit down and take his stuff out without making any noise but he was so breathing so loud and fast, and his hands were trembling so much that he winced, trying to be even faster and failing miserably when his stock of black pens fell to the ground. Great. Amazing.

“Calm down, Tweek,” Wendy whispered firmly but not unkindly next to him. “We haven’t even started yet.”

He tried to answer but only managed an “nngh” that probably just accentuated the flush of his cheeks. Repress. The years of speech and behavioral therapy his parents forced upon him during middle school had been among his most humiliating experiences: not because he was ashamed for having trouble talking or for getting help for it, but because it _hadn’t helped at all_. Sure, he stuttered a bit less, but he also talked (and screamed) a lot less. His method was simple: repress, stop breathing, decompress. It was not the healthiest solution, probably a little to close to Elsa’s ‘conceal don’t feel don’t let them know’ theory to his taste, but it was the only effective way he had found so far to hide the fact that he was still as much of a nervous wreck as he was when he was ten. Just before the therapy.

When his pens except for one were back in his bag and his notebook (his parents were convinced screens were the reason behind his anxiety) laid out in front of him, the cap of his new pen already half chewed after only one day of school, he finally allowed himself to breathe deeply. His teacher was writing major themes of their year on the board, his back to the class, so he took the occasion to close his eyes a moment. Breathe. In, out. Repeat. Now, decompress. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes again. Feeling vaguely more human, he took in what the teacher had written and started copying it down. It was only when he looked up to read the second theme that he noticed the student sitting right in front of him.

The first thing he noted, instinctually, was that he didn’t know him. After so many years in a secluded mountain town of Colorado, one came to know the face of every student, even the ones in other grades. And although he could only see his back, it was clear that it was a newcomer: he was obviously tall, judging from how his head was above everyone else’s, but his hunched shoulders led to believe he was taller than he wanted to seem. His basic dark grey hoodie didn’t give much clue about who he was but his nape was surprisingly… almost, well—delicate. It was not a word Tweek had ever expected to think about someone’s nape, but the soft black hair messily lining it looked like those of someone much younger, a kid even. His hair, very dark, was cut on the short side and had that kind of nondescript form that no one could form any opinion about. There was nothing special about that guy, and his attitude (judging from his back which, admittedly, didn’t let out much) was as banal as could be in high school. Just a random new student. But then, the boy sort of shrugged to make his shoulder bone pop and Tweak stopped breathing. The movement was achingly familiar. Not a random new student. Not a random new student _at all_.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my first time writing for south park so I don't quite have the hang of its very particular atmosphere yet. Sorry about the awkward writing, it should get more natural after some practice! 🙈

The class passed with as much concentration as Tweek could hope for; which was none. From the moment he realized Craig was sitting _right in front of him_ , it was like he couldn’t stop his brain from focusing every single attention cell on him. On the undulations of his elbow as he was writing, on his feet firmly planted on the ground, on the regular stretching movements of his back—which tended to point that he had back pains. Tweek didn’t want to care, wanted to act all cool and casual, but he couldn’t control the small, painful jumps of his heart every time Craig rolled his shoulders to alleviate the pain. It was probably because of his bad position. Tweek was no doctor, but being so hunched over one’s notebook couldn’t be good for the spine. When they were kids, Craig was the tallest of the class but the difference had not been that flagrant, just a couple of inches. Tweek couldn’t really tell how tall he was now, it was too hard to judge from his sitting, hunchback of Notre-Dame position, but seeing how gigantic his dad was, it was not surprising if the boy had grew up to be largely above average too. Tweek still saw Craig’s dad in town sometimes; he was now working at the Whole Foods Market, and sometimes Tweek ended up in his checkout line when he was sent to get groceries. 

And then, suddenly, the bell rang. Tweek blinked repeatedly—he had almost forgotten he was actually still in class, and his practically blank notebook vouched for it. Ruckus erupted in the room as everyone got up, packed up their stuff and pushed their chairs, and Tweek found himself blushing and sweating profusely when he realized Craig was moving too, one hand on the side of his chair to push it backwards, and that in a few seconds they might find themselves face to face again for the first time in seven years. Letting his fear instincts take over, he dived under his desk, pretending to be fixing the zipper of his backpack. It was completely stupid, and he prayed no one payed attention to his actual movements (which considered mostly of a series of push-and-pull) but his heart was beating so fast he couldn’t think enough to do something else. After a moment, when the noise around had considerably dimmed, he glanced back up and was relieved to see Craig had gone. A tiny part of him, the one hiding in his belly, was disappointed too, but he quickly shut it down and rushed to actually pack his things and leave the room with the couple of other stragglers. As he was quickly walking to his next class, he regretted not having taking the time to swing by his locker to get rid of the heavier books, but now he had no chance but to deal with the consequences of his choices.

“Hey, Tweek.”

Tweek turned around in a flash, so fast his neck cracked. David was falling into his steps and smiling at him, so calm and collected that Tweek felt even more like a mess.

“Aaagh—hey,” He answered. “Sorry, I, uh— was lost in my thoughts.”

“You missed homeroom again. Is everything alright?”

“Mmmh, yeah, fine. You know me. I was just too late.”

Thankfully, they were reaching their next common class then so David didn’t answer. Tweek quickly surveyed the room, his heart beating in his ears, but no Craig in sight. Once again, the disappointment in his belly made him a bit mad. David and he both went to get seats next to each other, and Tweek was so relieved to be finally certain enough of David’s friendship to deem it normal and not shady or done out of pity. Becoming friends with David had been such a slow, sort of organic process that it had taken him a few months in sophomore year to realize that it was that, that they were actually friends. Like a plant growing, he hadn’t noticed the buds were blossoming until they had become full flowers. They had started talking when they had both signed up to the drama club back in sixth grade, and even though Tweek had only stayed in that class for a few months, it had been enough to get their short but pleasant conversations going. With the years, and with them sharing always at least one class every grade, their conversations had become longer and more genuine, even funnier, and now it was easy to say David was his closest friend. They never really talked about intimate stuff (and Tweek had surely never, _ever_ talked about Craig with him) but they still found each other easily whenever they were in the cafeteria or when there were any school events. It was comforting, even though Tweek still couldn’t figure out what someone as friendly and serene as David could find in the paranoiac spaz he was.

Even if the cause of his turmoil was not in his field of vision this time, Tweek quickly found out that he couldn’t quite get it out of his head. He managed to pay minimum attention to the English lesson this time, but Craig’s back and nape kept popping back in front of his eyes. Craig had seen him arrive like a whirlwind, all sweaty and whizzing, passing in front of him without even seeing him. It was not the first (well… sort of) impression he had been hoping for but at the same time, if Craig hadn’t recognized him then, it was clear that he would never do it. He could not quite pinpoint why seeing him again, eventually talking to him again was such a worrisome and painful prospect. Perhaps because for months, even years after his departure, he had desperately waited for a text, a letter, a postcard—anything that could prove Craig missed him as much as Tweek did. But the systematic checking of his cell phone every time that was any noise, and the habit of checking the mailbox three times a day had slowly given way to a growing, even resentful feeling of abandonment. Craig didn’t care anymore, obviously, so Tweek had forced himself to forget all about him as well. He hadn’t touched to the games Craig and he played together anymore, had started taking a different road to go to school and had refused to even mention his name. By all means it had not been the healthiest solution (he saw it now, with a few more years of wisdom, and now that the resentment had mostly faded away), but to some extent, it had worked. He had erased Craig’s influence from his life. So now, having him back all of a sudden without any time to prepare for it felt like he was thrown back into one of the most painful period of his life without any parachute to slow down his fall. By forgetting about his physical presence, he had hoped it would erase the _sentimentality_ of it all—but seeing how anxious he was and how all his bad habits were exploding in his face again, it looked like he had been very, _very_ wrong.

The discovery in his next AP maths class that Craig wasn’t there either gave him a false sense of security that he hated; he had experienced along the years that security was always elusive, even fake more often than not. His default mode was to be on alert at all times. If it was not as obvious physically as it used to be when he was a little child, in his mind, there was no rest for the wicked. Kyle’s arguing with the teacher and Wendy’s endless questions created such a normal, usual atmosphere that it even made him forget how inadequate he felt when he had first signed up for the class. His incomprehensible talent for maths, which had revealed itself in middle school, was the greatest gift God could have given him according to his dad, and although he didn’t care much about it, it was nice to feel like he understood what was going on. So when he arrived early in front of his next biology class, David next to him talking about the newest members of his drama club, his heart rate had practically come back to normal and the corner of his lips was barely twitching.

So of course, it was logical that the universe had chosen that moment to put Craig right there, leaning against the wall with his hood up on his head and staring at his phone.

For the first couple of seconds, Tweek felt frozen on the spot and took the chance to neutrally observe the boy. The first thing he noticed, the most obvious one, was that his guessing had been right: Craig was really, _really_ tall. If he compared him to the door not too far, he was at least 6ft3 or even 6ft4, easily. Even if his head was angled downwards to watch his phone, Tweek could see his features quite clearly in the harsh light of the hallway. It was almost surprising how little he had changed. Tweek had expected him to look drastically different: to be all buff, to look like an adult, to have new features or something. To be a whole other person. But no, the gangly teenager in front of him looked just like he did at ten years old: long hands with very short nails, a relatively long and sort of bumpy nose, flat eyebrows, a straight mouth line that made him look always bored. He was a bit on the skinny side, as if he hadn’t quite grown into his height yet. He looked _young_ —his appearance was of a 17-year-old alright, but something in his face screamed ‘I’m not an adult yet’. Which was a stupid thought, all in all. Of course he wasn’t an adult yet, none of them were, no matter how hard they pretended not to be kids anymore. Tweek couldn’t see his eyes; just like in history, he was hunched, huddled up on himself, as if he was trying to take as little space as possible. Although there was no doubt at all that this was Craig Tucker, the vibe his posture gave off was lightyears away from the vibrant, silent confidence he was used to when they were kids.

Of course, Tweek couldn’t stand like a lamppost in the middle of the hallway with everyone trying to walk past him and David desperately trying to snap him out of his daze without drawing people’s heads to him—and by consequence, Craig’s too. But the minute his dark eyes met Tweek’s, someone pushed Tweek from behind and made him lose balance entirely.

“Wow, sorry dude!” boomed a partly muffled voice.

Hands stopped him from falling face first to the ground again and turned him around, where bright blue eyes over an orange scarf were checking him. Next to Kenny was Stan, looking half-amused half-unimpressed.

“What are you doing standing in the middle like that?”

“Nnngh—nothing,” Tweek managed to get out, feeling angry at himself for suddenly having so much trouble speaking again.

Kenny raised a silent but eloquent eyebrow, his hands still keeping Tweek upright, and David’s expression formed into a worried frown that Tweek did his best to ignore. As it was, he had other problems; such as Stan turning towards the wall behind them.

“Oh, hey Craig! It’s so weird to see you back here, dude.”

Tweek turned around in a flash. Still leaning against the wall but with his back standing straighter, Craig was looking at the three of them with a blank expression that was so _him_ that Tweek’s heart missed a beat. Stan was right; it _was_ very weird. And the fact that all four boys, who were not specifically small, had to crane their necks to look at him required some getting used to, too. After a few awkward seconds with no answer from him, Kenny took over and started saying something indistinguishable in his scarf. When he noticed no one understood him, he pulled on his scarf to uncover his mouth, revealing the gap in his teeth.

“What made you come back?” He repeated, clearly this time.

Tweek’s ears perked at the question and he realized at once that he was very interested in knowing the answer too. He sent a cautious look to the other boy, hoping not to look _too_ interested either. Unfortunately, their teacher arrived at that moment and opened the door to let them in, which gave Craig the excuse not to answer and to just put his phone in his pocket and go straight into the classroom without sparing a last glance to any of them.

Next to Tweek, Stan scoffed.

“Huh. Still an asshole, then.”

Kenny shrugged at him and the two went inside. However strong Tweek’s instinct to defend Craig was (even so many years later—he never would have expected that), he had to admit his attitude was a little rude. Even if he didn’t want to answer, he could have at least acknowledged that they had talked to him. Unless he indeed didn’t remember anyone. Which would actually not make his attitude any less rude.

“Are you okay?” David whispered next to him, giving him a small poke with his elbow.

His concern was not ill-founded, but Tweek was not in any state to get into it at that moment – or at any moment for that matter – so he just noncommittally groaned. Feeling his heart beat in his already dry throat, he nervously pulled on the straps of his backpack and went into the class too, feeling more than seeing David following him. Since as far as he could remember, he was used to get a seat against the wall, far from the windows (in case there would be an earthquake or an explosion outside) and mid-distance from the door (in case there would be a shooter inside, so that he wouldn’t be the first in line to get shot and would not be the last to reach the door to run away). Sitting in any place other than this one always left him even more on his toes than usual and made concentrating on whatever the teacher was saying almost impossible, a thousand scenarios of gruesome deaths parading in his head. But when he entered, his gaze went straight away to his favoured spot to see that it was already taken. And, of course, by Craig himself.

He could not quite pinpoint from what deep part of himself his sudden burst of courage came, but without even thinking about it, his feet led him right in front of Craig’s seat and stopped there, leaving him with nothing to do but to stare at the boy. Craig, who was taking his book out of his bag, froze mid-gesture and looked up to Tweek. His dark eyes and neutral expression did not give away what he was thinking, but if Tweek’s ‘Craig’s vibes receptors’ were still working, it looked like… puzzlement?

 _Me too, dude_ , he fleetingly thought, still wondering what the hell he was doing staring at Craig like a creep. However, now that he was here, and that his legs had turned to lead, he just _had_ to say something. So he said the first thing that came to his mind.

“You took my seat.”

A couple of uncomfortable seconds passed, during which neither boys moved a muscle.

“What,” Craig finally said, so flat that it didn’t sound like a question at all.

His voice was just as nasal as when he was 10, but a lot deeper—which shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it still was. He was staring at Tweek the same way he used to, too: without blinking and with way too much intensity. Tweek swallowed with difficulty, his hands already trembling a bit, but still pushed on. If he wanted to save the last shred of his lost dignity, he couldn’t back down now.

“My seat, I—usually I, I always sit. …Here.”

The second the words left his mouth, it dawned on him how stupid they were: this was their second day of school, they couldn’t possibly have ‘usual’ seats already. But thankfully, Craig didn’t question his questionable logic. He just stared at Tweek a moment longer and started moving again to look around him. Then, without a word, his grabbed his things, pushed his chair and got up to go to the free seat just behind. Too surprised to react, Tweek only startled back to life when the teacher behind him urged the ‘slow ones’ to get to their seats already. A look on his side showed him Kenny chuckling at him and David with an even deeper frown. The teacher starting his class at least gave the necessary distraction to stop them from _staring_ at him, but Tweek couldn’t quite get the embarrassment out of his system. He couldn’t quite explain why he was being so… weird. The others were being normal about this, just welcoming Craig back to their town in passing, just normal kids seeing one of their old acquaintances back. It wasn’t even the first time an old student made a return to South Park—he remembered in 9th grade when Damien had suddenly showed up in class again, in the middle of the year. Nobody had cared much back then, and the son of Satan had quickly found his place back into the school landscape. It was as if he had never left. It was even one of the specialty of the whole town: change was never surprising. Comebacks from the dead either. But with Craig, it was different. If the other kids, Stan, Kenny and all had not been particularly close to him, Tweek had. Whether he wanted to think about it or not, for a short while Craig had been the most stable, the most present person in his life. And now? Now Tweek couldn’t face him without acting like an idiot stumbling on his words.

The positive point of their awkward interaction was that at least, since Craig was sitting behind him, Tweek was not distracted by his every move like before. The negative one was that knowing that Craig could see his _own_ every move made him feel so watched and nervous that his whole body had started twitching again. He regretted not having brought some extra coffee with him to class, even though he had been trying to cut down his caffeine consumption for a few years now. It had kind of worked so far, with only four to five cups a day, but he had a feeling Craig’s return was going to send his progress flying into the wall. He had a feeling his return was going to send a lot of things into the wall.

Eating at the cafeteria was not Tweek’s favourite experience generally speaking, but this time the hubbub and chaos were the perfect buffer between his thoughts and his anxiety. They were used with David to eat together in the farthest corner, away from the most crowded tables, and when the bell had rung earlier, Tweek had nothing but dragged David outside right away not to have to face Craig again. Although he had seemed a bit shook at first, David was gracious enough not to question it once he had looked at Tweek’s probably messy state. But of course, the peace could not last for long; Tweek was in the middle of his pasta when a tray was put down without ceremony next to him.

“So, what was all that with Craig earlier?” Stan asked without even looking at him, already digging into his meal. “The dude has even more of a stick up his ass than before.”

In front of him, Kyle was sitting down with a tray as well, Kenny with a paper bag next to him.

“Stan told me he got super tall,” Kyle said, glancing between Tweek and David. “Like, even more than Greg.”

“Yeah,” Kenny confirmed around his sandwich, his eyebrows raised and his eyes lost in his thoughts.

“I don’t remember him much from before,” David admitted, and Tweek wanted to slide under the desk and melt into the floor when he understood the conversation was only going deeper into Craig territory. “Just that he was always sent to the counsellor’s office.”

“Ha! Mackey was losing his mind with him,” Kyle laughed.

“’You need to respect the adults, ‘mmmkay’,” Stan imitated, laughing at his own joke.

The other boys chuckled too and for a few precious seconds, everyone turned back to their meals. The sudden lull in the conversation gave Tweek what he had been waiting for, an occasion to divert their attention. He racked his brain to find a new topic, any at all, but Kyle beat him to it, staring at him over his carrots.

“Must be so weird for you to see him again. What with how you used to date and all.”

“It wasn’t for real, though,” Stan sort of articulated around a mouthful of spaghetti Bolognese, bringing out a thoughtful “mmh” from Kenny.

Tweek felt his whole face grow painfully red. _This_ , right there—that was exactly the topic he had hoped to avoid at all costs. The one topic he hoped would never reach Craig’s ears either. But it seemed like Kyle was not done with it.

“Still, you guys were always together at some point. Before he moved away.”

“I don’t think I ever knew you two not dating, actually,” David added, looking at Tweek and not helping _at all_. “I had just arrived when the Asian girls started sharing their draw—”

Tweek did his best not to yell, but his face still contorted into a grimace and he couldn’t stop an anxious “nnnngh” from getting out, thus cutting David off. Looking sheepish, David cleared his throat and went back to his meal, and Tweek at least felt thankful to have one less pair of eyes curiously watching him. Once upon a time, no one would have reacted at his antics; however, it seemed like the other students had got used to his more restrained behaviour as well and were just as surprised as him to hear his random noises again.

“You okay?” Kenny asked.

“Oh hey, speaking of the devil, Craig’s here,” Stan suddenly said, looking away at the food counter and raising his arm. “Hey, dude!”

And then, as if this was all turning into a nightmare, Stan started _waving at him_. With a rapidity he didn’t expect, Tweek’s own hand shot out to bring his arm down.

“NO!” He yelled.

Stan froze and widened his eyes at him, visibly surprised at his reaction. And when Tweek realized just how loud he had spoken, he couldn’t blame him. A quick glance around confirmed his fears: most students in the tables surrounding them were now staring wide-eyed at him. Including Craig, who had arrived at the end of the food counter, hood down and frown on his face.

Feeling utterly humiliated, Tweek picked up his bag and his tray with shaking hands. He then went straight to the exit of the cafeteria, sorted his trash out as best as he could and literally ran away from the place, feeling his friends and especially Craig’s eyes burning his retreating back.


End file.
